


The More Things Change

by bienenalster (pinkspider)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Getting Back Together, M/M, Nostalgia, Winter Classic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkspider/pseuds/bienenalster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“For one player on the Aces, this game represents the return of youth in another, special way. In just three weeks, Kent Parson, captain of the Las Vegas Aces, will not only be returning to the east coast winter of his childhood, but he will have the rare opportunity of being out on the same pond as his former friend and rival, Jack Zimmermann. The opportunity to play a game outdoors may remind them of their childhood, but from sharing a special bond as young teammates to struggling against each other for victory, this game also shows how much has changed with time."</p><p>Kent texted Jack: “<i>fucking epix</i>”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [achilleees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/gifts).



“For one player on the Aces, this game represents the return of youth in another, special way. In just three weeks, Kent Parson, captain of the Las Vegas Aces, will not only be returning to the east coast winter of his childhood, but he will have the rare opportunity of being out on the same pond as his former friend and rival, Jack Zimmermann. The opportunity to play a game outdoors may remind them of their childhood, but from sharing a special bond as young teammates to struggling against each other for victory, this game also shows how much has changed with time.

‘Yeah, he gave us a tough time when we played the Falconers in Vegas a couple months ago, but it’s always a thrill to match skills with him.’” 

Kent’s voice came from a couple rows back on the team bus. They were driving back home from a solid win against the Islanders; it was a good feeling going into the Winter Classic on the back of a decisive 4 to 1 victory. Even having to hear (yet again) the Epix narrator waxing poetic about the reunion of two “luminary talents” and the “rekindling of a rivalry spanning back to youth” couldn’t ruin the satisfaction of the win. 

Jack rolled his eyes and turned up the volume on his iPhone. It was probably Tanner again. Jack had missed his chance to discourage the guys from mentioning Kent when the camera crew were around, and this was where it got him: hearing about his “special” pal Kent Parson non-stop. The draft that wasn’t happened almost a decade ago, Jack’d been back in the game for three years, and the media _still_ wanted a rivalry story. He and Kent being in different conferences, it didn’t come up often, but for those few games a season, it was rivalry this and childhood that and remember when. 

Sure, Kent was still one of the standards Jack measured himself against, but they weren’t really a rivalry. They wouldn’t have been even if their teams played against each other more than twice a season. What he and Kent had back then – what they had now – was much more complex than that. 

To be fair, Epix couldn’t tell it like it is. When the second episode aired, with its explanation of their “special bond” over old clips from Rimouski, Kent had texted Jack, “ _fucking epix_ ”. Jack could imagine the half-hearted eyeroll Kent probably did, the way the corner of his mouth crooked up like it always did when he put on like he’s above it all. Meanwhile, Jack had to deal with a lot of shit-eating grins and chirping from Tanner and Rhodey. He sent Kent a quick text complaining about those idiots. 

Of course, Jack wasn’t dumb. He wasn’t naive. He saw the Zimmermann/Parson buzz coming from a mile away when they found out that the 2019 Winter Classic would be a matchup between the Falcs and the Aces. The first person to talk to Jack about the Classic other than his parents was Bitty, which was… nice. He had promised Jack a Winter Classic pie. Jack supposed it would still be a while before it stopped hurting to talk to him, but he was starting to think it would be okay. Maybe Bitty had been right all along. 

It was just another process, another phase, and Jack was getting through it like he’d gotten through everything else. 

“It’s hard to believe I’m getting to do this,” he’d confided in Bitty. 

“I don’t think so,” was all Bitty had had to say about that. 

It kind of figured that Jack would play in the Falcs’ first Winter Classic, and that it would be the Aces flying from one coast to the other as the first Pacific Division team ever to play the game. The day after tomorrow, Kent would be in Providence, and two days after that, they’d be on a sheet of ice in Fenway, shifting to keep warm on the ice while a starlet sang “The Star Spangled Banner” and a bunch of fireworks went off. 

It was almost like coming full circle with Kent, which is another thing Jack wouldn’t have imagined. It was bittersweet, and there was yet another surprising thing from the last few years: he and Kent had something new to go with their something old. It was weird. The way their present piled on top of the past kind of reminded Jack of something he saw in a museum once when he was a kid, in an exhibit about archaeology. Whatever it looked like from the outside, the ground was actually just a bunch of distinct layers, one over the other, each with its own unique history but still building up to make a hill. 

Jack was pulled back into the moment by the ding of his phone. It was Kent: “ _lol good thing they dont know about tomorrow_ ”. 

And then another “ _you know our date_ ”. 

Jack rolled his eyes. Some things never change. He smiled to himself as he shifted to look back out the bus window. The New England wind chilled the window as he leaned against it. The falling snowflakes were tiny streaks of white in the black sky, comforting and familiar. 

  
The night air carried the ice and smoke scent of winter along with the sounds of a flagging house party rallying one last time before a handful of teens decided to call it quits. Kent had corralled Jack and steered the two of them out of the house at just the right time. They were both a little tipsy, but not out and out drunk. Jack, in fact, was downright sober since Kent had done the thing where he wheedled Jack into taking it easy so Kent could drink as much as he wanted - without explaining that he didn’t really want to drink that much because it made it harder to hold Jack to his promise. Anyway, they wouldn’t have much cause to worry about missing something good for cutting out when they did. 

“C’n I sleep at your place?” asked Jack, leaning on Kent’s shoulder. He clearly didn’t need to lean on Kent, but he sometimes did anyway, Kent guessed so Jack could remind him how much shorter he was. Just one of those little dick moves Jack seemed to have up his sleeve. 

Kent pushed back against him and replied, “Sure. Let’s go the long way.” 

He felt rather than saw Jack’s nod, and they trudged down the sidewalk, which was lined with snow sludge from that morning. Jack had stopped leaning on his shoulder, but they were still walking close enough that their elbows bumped with every step. Just for kicks, Kent huffed out a plume of breath into the winter air so he could watch it dissipate. It was mostly a good silence, but he broke it anyway as they came up along a church Kent knew by sight but had never caught the name of. 

“Hard to believe 2008’s almost over, huh?” 

Kent grinned up at Jack just in time to catch his face doing one of those weird things where Jack’s brow crinkled and uncrinkled so fast you could miss it. His eyes were closed like a door slammed shut. They’d been that way too much lately, and it was pissing Kent off. 

Jack mumbled, “It is going by _fast_.” 

Kent knew that mumble too, and he was not letting Jack ruin shit again. “Oh, come off it, we have so much time. All the time!” He waved his arm expansively, hopefully conveying the world of possibility and glory that was waiting for them. “2009’s gonna be our fucking year, dude!” 

Jack’s only response was to grunt noncommittally, which, no, none of that crap. 

“Hang on a sec, dude. Gotta tie my shoe.” As Kent knelt down, he swiped up a handful of snow. Springing back up, he shoved the snow into the collar of Jack’s coat. 

“Fuck!” Jack squawked. He flailed around awkwardly, so Kent seized the chance to dash unsteadily off into the church’s front lawn. Maybe Kent’s last round was making him a little more clumsy than he’d normally be, but he still managed not to slide too much in the snow heaped up in the courtyard and was more than ready when Jack got his shit together and followed after, snowball in hand. Lobbing snowballs back and forth quickly turned into hand to hand tussling which turned into Jack tackling Kent down into the snow. Once again, he used his size to gain the upper hand, pinning Kent down. Panting with exertion, Kent didn’t fight him. 

He hooked a leg over Jack’s back instead and grasped Jack’s face with a gloved hand on either temple. He pulled Jack down for a long kiss and felt the tension melt right out of Jack’s frame. (Just like how the snow that had padded his fall was starting to melt into his pea coat, but Kent put that out of his mind. It was a problem for later; in the moment, there was just him and Jack in the abandoned courtyard, temporarily cut off from the rest of the world by the quieting snow and the sheer distance of the streetlamps.) 

Kent pulled Jack in even more closely with his leg and shifted his hand to the back of Jack’s neck. That was all the prompting it took for Jack to deepen the kiss. Kent gasped involuntarily when Jack’s lips moved to his throat, and he clutched his fingers tight in Jack’s hair. After a moment, Jack muttered against Kent’s scarf, “I think --” 

“Don’t, Zimms. Just stop thinking a little,” Kent protested, wrenching Jack’s head back up to kiss him again. Jack let him. 

Then he broke off the kiss again, “You’re going to get a cold, though.” 

“Ugh, Captain Fucking Buzzkill,” Kent griped, pushing Jack off him. “I won’t either.” To make his point, he swept his arms and legs across the snow. 

“Snow angel, really?” scoffed Jack. 

“Really,” answered Kent. “C’mon, it’s fun. Lighten up and do something fun for once, ya sadsack.” 

Jack huffed and rolled his eyes, but he still flopped to the ground and made a snow angel right next to Kent’s. “See?” said Kent. 

“Yeah, yeah, now my back’s getting wet, too.” Jack complained, but it was easy to hear the smile in his voice. 

“Hey, are you good at constellations?” Kent asked after a moment. 

“Not really. But we’re in the middle of the city. We basically can’t see any stars anyway.” 

Kent pointed. “Bet the big dipper or whatever is right there.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do,” replied Kent with a smirk. They stared up at where the stars would’ve been visible if it weren’t for all the streetlights and airplanes and whatever else it was that made light pollution. Kent hesitated a minute before reaching to his left and feeling around for Jack’s hand. 

They’d actually never held hands before - it just wasn’t part of their thing, whatever their thing was - but it felt right at the moment. They’d never talk about it anyway, so all good. Jack actually twined his fingers with Kent’s. The warmth of his hand radiated through his gloves. For some reason, it made Kent blush a little even though he’d sucked Jack off dozens of times. 

He scooted closer to Jack, ruining his snow angel in the process. 

“Dude. 2009 is going to be badass. ‘Cause, well, you are. We’re definitely the top picks. We’re set for life, ok?” 

“I guess.” 

“No ‘I guess.’ Zimms, you’re a badass. Own it.” 

Jack was silent. 

“Well?” Kent prompted. 

“... Yeah. You’re right. You’re a badass, too, Kenny. Uhm. Thanks.” 

Kent’s cheeks burned even more. He punched Jack on the shoulder. “Any time. Dipshit. Now come on. Let’s go before you do make us get the flu after all.” He got to his feet and brushed some of the snow off his back like it would make any difference. 

“Before _I_ make us get the flu?” protested Jack indignantly, but he still took the hand Kent extended towards him and let himself be helped up. He was smiling, and Kent’s heart caught in his throat. 

“C’mon. Let’s go home and warm up,” he winked at Jack, and they started back off towards his house. 

  
When Kent walked into Jack’s apartment, the slush from his boots made a small puddle on the floor. 

“Oops, sorry,” he said as he slipped off his jacket. “I kind of miss snow, but I don’t really miss this crap.” 

“It’s fine,” Jack replied, hanging Kent’s coat up on the rack. “Want something to drink?” Kent nodded and followed Jack into the kitchen. He gestured with his free hand at a plain white box sitting on the counter. 

“Is that from…” When Jack nodded, Kent pushed a little further. “So does that mean you guys are friends now or whatever?” 

“Something like that.” Jack shifted, a little uneasy. The last time he even mentioned Bitty to Kent was about seven months ago, which was itself about a month and a half after the breakup. Jack was pretty sure that in 2008 or so, he’d have gotten endless chirping for being dumped. In 2017, he got commiseration and an offer to talk about it anytime (that Jack never really took him up on). 

He’d started talking to Kent more after telling him about the breakup. Even if they didn’t talk about it, if he seemed down, he could count on Kent to do one of the weird, goofy things he sometimes did, like holding Kitt Purrson up to the computer screen with her looking like she was five seconds away from taking off Kent’s hands if he didn’t stop pulling the corners of her mouth back in a fang-filled smile. Things like that that were weird enough and aggravating enough to coax a grin out of Jack, which would make Kent’s eyes light up like they used to back in the Q. 

“‘Something like that?’” Kent scoffed. “He shipped you a pie. No one bakes for someone they hate. Not even him.” 

“I don’t know. He fed you. Remember the first time you visited after Bittle moved to Providence?” 

“Yeah, he made me cookies. They were fucking tasty.” 

“Oatmeal cookies.” 

“So?” 

“He would never do that to someone he liked.” 

“Bullshit. Bittle loves me. He was the one who suggested I should come see you!” 

Jack shrugged. “He thought it would be good for me. That doesn’t mean he actually liked you. Trust me. I have heard him talk about oatmeal cookies. Even if you grew on him eventually, he still made oatmeal cookies.” 

“Pfft, whatever,” Kent pointed at the box. “So what’s in there? Like… bran cookies or something?” 

“Blueberry lemon pie. Want some?” 

“What the hell,” said Kent. In deference to their nutritionists, Jack cut the slices small. They ate in companionable silence, leaning against the kitchen counter and listening to the living room clock tick away. 

“I guess we’re friends,” Jack picked the thread back up. “It’s. Neither of us are very good at talking, you know?” 

“Doesn’t he talk into a camera for a hobby?” 

Jack chuckled at that. “Yeah. But about important stuff, it’s hard.” 

“Mm,” Kent hummed in concession. “But if he’s sending you a blueberry lemon pie instead of oatmeal cookies, he must still like you.” 

Jack guessed Kent was right. He and Bittle might not be friends, but they were still something that mattered. Like him and Kent. “Hey, c’mon, want to put on a movie, or something?” Jack asked, because staring at a screen was definitely better than talking about his ex. 

  
The laptop screen lit up the dim room, staring Kent down. There was a knot wrenching his stomach and a twitch in his jaw. He finally had contact information for Jack, and here he was: afraid to Skype him. Terrified. Frozen. 

Everything was wrong. 

December in Vegas was hardly December. At 44 degrees, “winter” was a generous term. Granted, Kent knew a few guys who had ended up in Glendale or Houston, so he knew it could be worse. In theory at least. 

“Worse” was still hard to imagine as an actual reality. He was in the NHL alone. He hadn’t talked to Jack since the night before Jack wasn’t drafted first, or second, or third. He’d gotten so used to bearing the burden of Jack’s damage, but somehow it was heavier having to adjust to life in the NHL without that on his shoulders. 

No, it couldn’t get worse. 

Then, Kent made the Skype call and learned what “worse” really was. Instead of throwing his laptop against the wall he threw a nearby pillow. 

  
Jack threw a pillow at Kent. “Get your feet off me, Parse.” Kent lazily batted the pillow right out of the air and scooted down the couch so that his calves crossed over Jack’s thighs, because Kent was an ass like that. Jack rolled his eyes for show and let him. 

“They are off you,” Kent drawled without ever looking away from the screen where Russell Crowe was jamming two swords into his opponent. “Man, this part is so sick, where he uses those to decapitate the guy. ‘Are you not entertained?!’” Kent quoted along. 

“The Romans were weird, eh?” Jack commented. He’d seen Gladiator a million times - he’d seen it a million times _with Kent_ \- so he wasn’t really paying too much attention to the screen. 

“No kidding. I’d totally kick ass as a gladiator, though.” 

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re too short.” 

“Shove it,” Kent halfheartedly retorted. “Hey, excited about tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.” 

“I’m glad you can keep such a positive attitude even though we’re going to kick your ass.” 

“Please. None of you understand what snow and cold even are anymore.” 

“Fighting words, dude,” Kent protested. Before Jack could even process it, he was getting smacked in the face with a pillow. (Really, he had let his mother go crazy with the couch pillows.) 

He threw his arms up defensively. “Seriously, Kenny? You’re trying - “ The pillow hit him in the jaw. “ - to start - “ Whack. “ - a pillow fight?” 

“Not trying, doing and winning. Lighten up a little, sheesh!” 

Jack was already grinning. It had been a while since anyone he knew had pushed him to goof off in the kind of fun way that made him remind everyone involved how old they all were. 

“It’s not funny, Parson, we’re twenty eight, you know, and those are nice pillows!” 

“Fine, fine, buzzkill,” Kent griped. As he slowed his onslaught, Jack reached out, threw his arm around Kent’s neck, and yanked him in for hairstyle-destroying noogies. 

“Oh my God, you dick! You sneaky fucking bastard!” But Kent didn’t fight very hard to get out Jack’s grip, though. Jack held Kent tight against his chest, allowing himself to enjoy the familiar, strange rush of his pulse, just like from when he and Kent held each other back in the Q, only without the anxiety he used to have, the certainty that everything would come toppling down on him. His life and his relationship with Kent had already crumbled once, but miraculously, he’d gotten them both back. It would be hard to be crushed by the same fear again. 

“Okay, you win, enough.” Kent reached up and punched him in the bicep. “Uncle or whatever.” 

Jack let him go, but smoothed his hair as condescendingly as he could manage. 

“I still love you,” Kent’s words came out in a sudden rush. He froze like he was as surprised as Jack was. 

Jack’s phone rang. 

  
“Who the hell keeps calling you?” Kent asked, pointing at Jack over his IPA. They were a bar called E Pub, or something like that, and it was the eighth time Jack had checked his phone since they sat down. Not that Kent was counting. 

“Is it Blondie? If it is, tell him he could really stand to take you off the leash. It’s safe. I’m over you, for sure. Your boy’s got nothing to worry about. Least not from _me_.” 

“No, it’s not him, and can you keep your voice down?” 

“Alright, but I promise no one here would care about your college-aged boyfriend even if they heard. Though. Wonder what would be the bigger controversy: that Jack Zimmermann is gay or that he’s dating a kid just out of college?” 

“I mean it, stop being an ass. Bittle’s not a kid, and anyway, we aren’t dating.” 

Kent didn’t quite do a spit take. “What? Seriously?” He leaned forward, practically halfway across the table. “Since when, and when were you going to tell me, jackass?” 

“Sorry, I didn't think…” 

Kent settled back in his chair. “No. No, sorry, it's not really my business, I know. I just. I'm your friend. Right? And I thought things were going good with him.” He hesitated. “I thought he was good for you.” 

“Well he was. Is?” 

“Yeah.” Kent smeared together a couple drops of condensation on his bottle. Now shit was awkward. Why did he and Jack always have to be on different pages? Kent had been trying so hard, especially since they'd started talking pretty regularly last year. He wished more than just about anything he could go back and teach his 2010 self how to be less of a dick. And his 2011 self. And hell, the Kent Parson from every year this decade, and all the Jack Zimmermanns, too, while he was at it. 

He cleared his throat. “So. That Rhodes kid seems like a good addition to your second line.” 

“Yeah, he is. He's got a way to go still, but I see him being a consistent first liner, maybe next season. Good eye. Good net front presence.” 

“Yeah,” Kent agreed. He flagged down the waitress to order another beer and a pretzel. 

“It was in the fall,” Jack said suddenly. 

Kent raised his eyebrows and waited for Jack to continue. 

“It just. It wasn't working. My schedule, and I was always gone. And he was looking for a job, and then he found one, and he was always gone.” 

“That's rough,” Kent offered when Jack trailed off again. Jack was systematically tearing up a napkin. Kent wanted to reach out and place his hand over Jack’s but he thought better of it. 

“Also, he didn't like that we had to keep our relationship a secret. He understood. And he was so good about it. But I guess it was a bigger problem than I thought.” Jack’s shoulders slumped, and he looked like he did when he was 17 and worried about a declining faceoff percentage. “I guess I was too much.” 

“Doesn't sound like that was the problem,” Kent said flatly, stopping himself rolling his eyes. “Look. It's his loss, and he's going to regret it.” 

“I hope not. Maybe he was right, and it’s better like this.” 

“Yeah, maybe, but it still blows. Sorry, Zimms. I know how much he meant to you.” There was a lump in Kent’s throat, keeping him from saying all kinds of stupid, untrue things like, “he wasn’t really worth it” or “you’re definitely better off without him”, and stupid, true things like “I’d never have dumped you if I was him.” 

Instead, he took another drink of his beer, then said “He _was_ good for you. Uhm. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.” 

Jack looked up from his shredded napkin, his eyes soft. “Thanks, Kenny.” 

Two weeks later, Kent couldn’t stop wondering how Jack was doing. Better, he hoped. But Kent knew better. He knew that Jack would probably be moping and thinking about it too much, and not letting himself stop dwelling on it. He knew Jack would need stupid distraction. 

So, he picked up his phone. 

  
Jack’s phone kept ringing, and he ignored it. Whoever it was could wait. They could’ve just as well been a world away from him. 

Jack was on the couch with Kent, who was staring at him with wide, cloudy gray eyes. Kent was barely breathing and his whole body was tense with waiting. 

Jack didn’t know what to say. “Still,” Kent had said. They never, ever talked about their feelings back in the Q. It was a shock to hear the words. 

Except, he’d always felt them in Kent playfully punching him on the shoulder, in Kent’s lips on his, in Kent rolling his eyes at Jack over a Skype call. 

There had been times Kent had been downright fucked up to him. No denying that, even if Jack had also been kind of terrible to him. 

But, if Jack had built himself back up, so had Kent. They’d fixed things, and until they had, Jack hadn’t realized that he’d missed Kent the whole time. Now here was Kent, in his apartment, on his couch, practically in Jack’s lap. 

“Are you gonna say anything?” Kent’s was using the kind of flat voice he did when talking to the media after a loss, but there was a slight tremble at the end of his voice. 

“Are you saying you want to try dating again?” he finally asked, sounding like a complete idiot, hoping he wasn’t wrong to call whatever they did in the Q “dating.” 

“Not necessarily. But yeah? Maybe. I don’t know.” Kent was biting his lower lip, looking for all the world like he wanted to disappear into the bottom of the earth. 

“Me too,” Jack blurted out. 

Kent breathed out a small sigh of relief, and his shoulders dropped in relaxation. “Oh thank God.” They sat in awkward silence for a beat before Kent said, “Wait, what?” 

“What?” Jack repeated. Again, like a complete idiot. 

“You too what?” Kent asked with a nervous laugh. 

Jack laughed, too. “Wow, we really suck at this.” 

Kent laughed for real this time, pushing his bangs off his forehead with the heel of his hand. “No fucking kidding.” Just like that, the tension evaporated. 

“I meant, me too, I want to try again. But also, me, too, I don’t know.” 

Kent shook his head. “So… what do you want to do?” 

“I just. I need to think about it, I guess.” 

“Think all you need,” Kent told him with a crooked half-smile. 

  
Jack returned Kent’s grin from across the ice. Over their heads, fireworks went off at the end of “The Star Spangled Banner.” Jack couldn’t help but frown inwardly at the thought that fucking Epix was kind of right: it was a special game, to be back on a pond with Kent. 

He didn’t have to think about their conversation in his apartment all that much, as it turned out. He already knew what he wanted to do. He didn’t know what being with Kent again would be like, since they weren’t out, since they were on rival teams, since they’d changed so much in the years after they hurt each other. But he didn’t think he needed to know. Later, he’d call Kent, and they’d _talk_ for a change. And they’d figure something out. Like Kent always said, they were badasses. They’d make it work, this time. 

But first, he needed to utterly crush Kent in an absurdly fancy pond hockey game. 

And then taunt him using whatever bullshit narration Epix came up with, because some things change, but the need to chirp the everliving hell out of your nearest and dearest always stays the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [rayemars](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rayemars) for the beta!


End file.
